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He smoked.
She smoked.
Big-shot Lover Boy.
Everyone had nice words for him-Sharavi, the Arab, even old Shmeltzer.
Far as they knew, he'd slept through it all, dosed up on heroin.
Didn't know the maniac had let him come out of it, didn't know what the fucking shit had done with him.
To him.
Making him the woman. Calling him pretty one, cursing in German as he played out his filthy
The agony, the shame. After the fucking shit left, he bloodied his hands freeing himself, dressed himself before they had a chance to find out the truth.
The next day, he'd driven all the way to Haifa, found a doctor up on the Carmel, and using a false name, told a lame story about bleeding hemorrhoids which the doctor hadn't even pretended to believe. Cash up front had stifled any questions. Ointments, salves, the blood test results back yesterday.
Everything normal, Mr. Siegel.
Normal.
The secret intact. He returned to Headquarters a hero.
If any of them ever found out, they'd never look at him the same.
He wanted desperately to put the memories out of his mind, but they kept returning-in dreams and daydreams, filling empty moments, dominating his thoughts.
Filth. He wanted to remove his brain, dip it in acid.
The strawberry blonde had gotten up, was walking toward him.
Leaning low. Giving him a tease-glimpse of nipple before tugging up her top.
Really a gorgeous one.
She posed, smiled, tapped a foot, and made her chest shake.
He felt a warm stirring in his jeans. But vague, removed, as if it were happening to someone else's body.
He said nothing, did nothing.
She looked confused. "Hey. Do you want to dance?"
Avi looked up at her, trying to collect his thoughts.
"Hey," said the girl, smiling again, but hurt. "I didn't know it was a life-or-death decision."
She turned to leave.
Avi stood, took hold of her.
"It's not," he said, twirling her around and putting on a smile of his own, the one the South African girl had called devilish, the one they all went for.
Keeping the smile plastered on his face, he squired her onto the dance floor.
On the fourth day, Daniel went home and slept until evening. When he awoke, Shoshi was in the room, sitting in a chair by the window, big-eyed, silent, picking at her cuticles.
Far away
He remembered Ben David's visit, yesterday. The disquieting feeling of waiting for a comparative stranger to tell him about his own child.
I won't tell you she's perfect. She's shaken up-traumatized. Expect some sleep problems, maybe nightmares, appetite loss, fearfulness, clinginess. It's normal, will take time to work through.
What about addiction?
No chance. Don't worry about that. In fact, the heroin turned out to be a blessing. She was spared the gory details. All she remembers is his grabbing her suddenly, holding her down for the injection, then waking up in the ambulance.
Hearing the psychologist talk about the abduction had made him want to cringe. He'd suppressed it, thought he'd done a good job of hiding his feelings. But Ben David's look was penetrating. Appraising.
What, Eli?
Actually, what worries her the most is you-that you'll never be the same, that it was all her faut. you'll never forgive her.
There's nothing to forgive, Eli.
Of course not. I've told her that. It would help if she heard it from you.
"Motek?"
"Yes, Abba?"
"Come here, on the bed."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't. I'm a tough guy. Come on."
She got up from the chair, settled near his right shoulder.
"How's the dog, Shosh?"
"Good. The first night he cried until morning. I put him in my bed, but last night he slept well. This morning he ate everything I gave him."
"And how about you-how are you sleeping?"
"Fine."
"No bad dreams?"
"No."
"And what did you eat for breakfast?"
"Nothing."
"Why not?"
"I wasn't hungry."
"Dieting?"
A tiny smile formed on her lips. She covered her mouth with her hand. When she removed it, the smile had vanished.
"No."
"What then, Yom Kippur? Have I been here so long that I've lost track of time?"
"Oh, Abba."
"Not Yom Kippur. Let me see-a boy. You want to look ski
"Abba!"
"Don't worry about what the boys think, what anyone thinks. You're beautiful just the way you are. Perfect." He lifted her hand to his lips, touched the palm to his unshaven cheek. Feeling the warmth, capillaries brimming with life-blood. Exulting in it.
"Smooth or scratchy?" Old game.
"Scratchy. Abba-"
"Perfect," he repeated. Pause. "Except, of course, for the way you treat your brothers."
The smile again, but sad. Fingers twisting her hair, then touching the wings of the silver butterfly.
"Have you done your homework?"
"There is no homework. School's out in two days. The teachers let us have parties. And they're wild animals."
"Your teachers are wild animals?"
"Mikey and Be